


you jump, i jump

by the_aaliyah_rose_black



Category: The Beatles (Band), Titanic (1997)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Basically its where John and Paul take the spot as Jack and Rose, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, John's Jack and Paul's Rose, Love Story, M/M, RMS Titanic, Shipwreck, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29118864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_aaliyah_rose_black/pseuds/the_aaliyah_rose_black
Summary: In 1912, Paul McCartney finds himself engaged to a woman he doesn't love and boarding the RMS Titanic, declared unsinkable by everyone. Feeling trapped and suffocated in a life he does not want, Paul wants more than anything to end it all, finding himself on the stern on April 12th, until he came...John Lennon was an interesting lad, surviving off the drawings he made with his best friend, Ringo Starr. Winning their tickets to Titanic in a game of poker, both John and Ringo board "The Ship of Dreams." While on board, John meets Paul McCartney, a beautiful but melancholy looking young man, eventually befriending him when he finds Paul on the stern of the ship, learning that he wants to jump.A bizarre concept to him, but he was willing to listen. As both John and Paul find themselves in a whirlwind and not to mention forbidden romance, can their new love survive the tragedy that's about to befall them?
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney, Pattie Boyd/George Harrison, Paul McCartney/Original Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello, hello! I really need to stop writing Titanic aus, they're very addicting to write, but I also end up making myself cry, so that's that. But, I decided to write this since I've always loved The Beatles, since I was a little kid, thanks to my dad, and I decided to give this a try. I was watching Titanic two days ago and thought "John and Paul would really fit Jack and Rose," so here we go! 
> 
> Also, I am in no way trying to romanticize or glorify the tragic and traumatic event of the Titanic sinking. This was simply a fun idea I had, along with all my other Titanic fanfictions on my profile. I also don't mean to represent women badly, I am a girl myself, but there are women who abuse their partners out there. 
> 
> This story will also have mature themes, such as sinking, references to depression, suicidal thoughts, abuse, and kissing scenes (not smut, I'm not the biggest fan of writing and reading it) so that is a warning!

**_April 10th, 1912_ **

If a relationship lacks love, then it leaves a hole in your heart. An emptiness forms in you, a feeling that forms when you realize that you're never going to be loved, that you're going to be forever trapped in a relationship with no way out where your whole life you're going to have fake smiles and act in love, when in reality you want nothing to do with each other. And that's how Paul McCartney felt as he sat beside his fiancèe, Sarah Walsh, in a car, driving to port to board a ship that would send him to America, to a life that he wanted nothing to do with. 

See, six months ago, Paul’s father, Jim, had come to him with great news, saying how Sarah Walsh’s father, Mr. Jonathan Walsh, had told him that his daughter (who was almost five years older than Paul himself) was looking for a husband, and that an alignment between the McCartney’s and the Walsh’s would be a good fit. Both of their families were wealthy, but the Walsh’s were wealthier, and according to Jim, it would be a perfect opportunity for their family to get make a name for themselves again. 

Sarah Walsh was a young woman of twenty-six, with sharp dark eyes and bright red hair that all the other men fell hard for, but Paul never found her attractive. Maybe because of how she treated him. 

Now, while Sarah put on an act of charming, sweet, and witty nature in front of other people, she was manipulative and used her charm to charm his own father. In front of Paul, however, was another story. She drank wine and champagne heavily, often taking out her frustrations with her family on him, becoming extremely possessive and angry if he even so _looked_ at another woman, or a man, even if it was people he had to socialize with. The twenty-one-year-old Liverpoolian felt practically miserable, trapped, and overall just suffocated. 

“ - ul. Paul! Are you even listening to me?” his father’s harsh and impatient voice brought Paul back into the world of the living. He snapped his head toward where he saw his father looking at him with an impatient and slightly angry look in his eyes. “Stop fiddling with your hands, it looks unprofessional.” 

In an act of defiance, Paul continued fiddling with his hands, only for a pair of gloved fingers to forcibly pull them apart.

“Listen to your father, Paul, dear,” Sarah’s warning voice whispered in his ear and he looked up to see her, his hazel eyes meeting her dark brown ones. He felt himself nod and she smiled, taking her gloved hands-off his and turning to face the front. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat and turned around, looking out the small car window. 

The car came to a sudden stop and Paul could hear the sounds of a busy ship’s port: a ship’s horn blowing, cheering and yelling from passengers, the sound of whistles blowing, and porters telling passengers were to go. 

The car door opened and he stepped out, squinting at the sudden bright sunlight. It was unusual for it to be this sunny in England, especially in April. Once he had adjusted to the light, Paul looked up, seeing a ginormous ship docked in port, with people already boarded, waving at their loved ones still on deck.

“I don’t see what the fuss is about,” he spoke, eyebrows crinkled in confusion. The ship looked just as big as any other ship by the White Star Line, so why was this one getting all the attention? “It doesn’t look any bigger than the _Mauretania._ ”

Sarah rolled her eyes as Jim helped her out of the car. “You can be blase about somethings, Paul, but not about _Titanic._ It’s over a hundred feet longer than _Mauretania,_ and far more luxurious.” She then turned to Jim, who was now flattening down his suit, and told him, “Your son’s far too difficult to impress, Jim.” 

“This is the ship they say is unsinkable, and it is unsinkable, God himself could not sink this ship - what?” Paul turned his gaze from _Titanic_ to see a porter coming toward him, a whistle around his neck.

“Sir, you have to check your luggage through the main terminal, it’s around that way, sir,” the porter instructed kindly.

Jim, on the other hand, just looked annoyed as he turned to do something, but Sarah marched over, holding a five-pound note in her hands and placing it in the porter’s palm, a charming smile on her face. 

“Keep it,” Sarah introduced, and the porter’s eyes widened as his cheeks flushed pink slightly. “Now kindly see our man.” Ah Mr. Peter Joy, though he was anything but a joy. He was cold and calculated, and something about him Paul made a shiver run down his spine.

“We need to hurry, we’re going to be late,” Jim reminded them and Paul turned to Linda Eastman, who was a good friend of his and worked for Sarah. She was currently carrying somethings that were too fragile to be rolled in by porters. 

“Do you have my sheet music?” he asked her and Linda smiled. 

“I have them, sir,” she responded and Paul nodded, wincing as Sarah grabbed his arm, almost-dragging him away from Linda. Her grip wasn’t hard enough to leave a bruise, but it still hurt. He hid back a flinch as she forcibly hooked her arm through his, laying her gloved hand on his hand. 

“Chin up, Paul, stop looking down,” Sarah reminded him with an angry but dangerously soft tone in her voice. 

A retort lay on the tip of his tongue, _what are you, me mum?,_ but he didn’t want to get Sarah madder than she already was, so he bit his own tongue, looking up as they walked up the ramp to the first-class entrance. 

The ship was huge, and he could smell the fresh paint even from a few feet away. But instead of feeling the excitement as most of the other passengers felt, Paul felt nothing but dread settle in his gut. His home was in England, in Liverpool, not in America, where his life would be nothing but suffocating. 

_Now I long for yesterday…_

**-**

Across the street from port, inside a small pub, four people sat around a table, playing a poker game. The four people were Swedish immigrants looking for a better life, Sven and Olaf, and the other two, John Lennon and Ringo Starr, were looking for the exact same thing.

John Lennon sat sitting back in the chair, a lit cigarette in his mouth. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, his brown eyes flickering up from the cars he held in his hand to the center of the table, where a ticking watch sat, and under it were two tickets to the RMS _Titanic._

“John, mate, you are betting everything we have,” he spoke with a Liverpoolian accent, and John leaned forward, staring his friend right in the eyes, blowing out smoke as he took a drag from his cigarette.

“When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose,” John responded, a Liverpoolian accent also in his tone, before leaning back in his chair, Ringo doing the same. Across from them, Sven and Olaf were holding a conversation, but since neither John nor Ringo knew Sweedish, they didn’t know a single world they were saying. 

_Probably insulting us,_ John mused as he put out his cigarette. “Alright, moment of truth, somebody’s life’s about to change,” he spoke to the whole table, before nodding to his best mate, “Ringo.” 

He then put down nothing, looking at him dead in the eyes with no expression. “Nothing,” he stated. 

John nodded before turning to the two Swedish lads in front of him. Olaf put Ringo did, nothing. Sven then put down two cards, which was exactly what he had.

“Uh-uh, two-pair.” He then turned to Ringo, “I’m sorry, mate.” 

Ringo’s eyes then widened. “You’re sorry?! You just bet all of our money, John -”

“ - I’m sorry for these two here, because we’re going to America, full-house, boys!” John finished as if Ringo never spoke, slamming his fist down on the table, a wide smile on his face.

A giddy laugh then escaped Ringo as he took the two tickets, beginning to dance around with them and mime playing an instrument. John then began to swipe some of the coins into his bag, he felt a fisted hand grab his shirt and pull him toward them. He looked up to see Olaf standing above him, with an angry expression on his face, a fisted hand in the air. Even though he was speaking in his native language, John knew that he was going to punch him.

Much to his surprise, Olaf instead turned and punched Sven right in the nose, making him fall off his chair and onto the dirt pub floor. A laugh escaped him and he turned around, seeing Ringo holding out the tickets. 

“We’re going to America!” John exclaimed, taking the two tickets they had just won, and kissed them, before wrapping his friend in a hug. 

“No, mate,” the pub owner’s voice spoke and both John and Ringo turned to him, their smiles fading. _“Titanic_ goes to America, in five minutes.”

John’s eyes widened as he then began pushing more and more of the money into their bags. “Shit, Rings, we gotta go,” he stated the obvious, both of them running out of the pub and across the street to the docks. 

“We’re the luckiest son of the bitches in the world, you know that, right?” Ringo asked him, breathless, as they ran down the street toward the third-class entrance. 

“Don’t forget, I got the tickets for us, mate,” John reminded him, causing Ringo to chuckle as they both ran. “Come on, yer supposed to be faster than me!”

“You told you that?” Ringo asked as they both continued running, John pushing aside a porter who was going to move away the passenger ramp.

“Wait, wait, we’re passengers!” John yelled as both he and Ringo approached a man who was probably an officer, holding out their tickets.

“Have you been through the inspection queue?” Sixth Officer James Moody inquired, looking down at the tickets then at them.

“Of course,” John easily lied, “and besides, we’re from Liverpool, we live here in England, we don’t have any lice.” 

The Sixth officer nodded. “Right, come abroad.” Ringo smiled widely as the both of them jumped into the third-class entrance, which looked remarkably fancy for third-class. 

"We're the luckiest son of bitches in the world, you know that?" John repeated his best friend's earlier words as Ringo chuckled, the two jumping up and down as they had just received the Christmas or Birthday gift they always wanted. Ringo grabbed his arm, leading both of them up the top deck, where most of the other passengers were waving to their loved ones still on the deck. 

"Goodbye! I'll miss you!" John yelled out, waving as Ringo stepped onto the railings, since he was shorter than him.

"You know somebody?" Ringo teased, smirking. 

"Of course not, but that's not the point!" he retorted back in the same teasing tone before turning and waving again. "I'll miss you!"

"Goodbye!" Ringo yelled as well, playing along with him, "I will never forget you!" 

John smiled as the ship moved out of port, still waving and yelling. He felt like he was on top of the world, on the Grandest Ship in the World, The Ship of Dreams, going to America, and most specifically, New York City. 

What could go wrong?


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! Brian will make an appearance here, yet he will be around the same age as both John and Ringo. 
> 
> Also, here's a playlist I found on youtube which helps me write my Titanic fanfictions!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSt2G7bQ60I&t=26s

_**April 10th, 1912** _

Third-class was surprisingly fancy for the third-class. Even though the sound of the engines was pretty loud in some parts of the decks, most of the passengers, including both John and Ringo themselves were grateful that the third-class areas were as nice as they were.

Once they had gotten settled in their rooms and said hello to their two bunkmates (which earned them looks of confusion), John grabbed his sketchbook and headed onto the third-class deck, which so happened to be the stern of the ship. 

The sea breeze blew through John’s hair and the sunlight almost blinded him as he climbed onto the deck. A handful of the passengers were sitting, children running around and playing together, adults in conversation, and some young adults were smoking as they leaned on the railings. 

He sat down with Ringo by his side as he opened his sketchbook, flipping to a blank page right in the middle, and beginning to draw a young father and his young daughter a good foot away, half-heartedly listening to the conversation between Ringo and another young man. 

“The views here are quite nice, right?” Ringo asked the man, accepting the lighter he gave him, lighting his cigarette before handing it back. 

“They are quite nice, this is the ‘Ship of Dreams,’ they call it!” the man replied, a Liverpool accent heavily in his voice, causing John to look up from his drawing. 

“We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?” he teased with a smirk on his face, the smirk growing as the man rolled his eyes but chuckled.

“I’m Brian Epstein,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand for a shake.

“John Lennon.” He accepted the handshake, the two pulling back after a minute, Brian turning to Ringo.

“Ringo Starr,” Ringo introduced himself, shaking Brian’s hand. 

“Those drawings are very good,” Brian told him as he took a drag of his newly-lit cigarette. “Do you make any money with them?”

“Some,” John answered back with a slight smile, causing Brian to nod and lean against the pole behind him. 

**-**

Paul turned his head as the door opened again, seeing a porter rolling in more luggage, and he winced with sympathy: those things had to be heavy.

“Is it this one?” Linda’s voice caused him to turn around again, seeing her holding a painting in her hand, this particular painting has a man’s face on it with dark paint all around him. 

He had always found art fascinating, especially abstract art like that. In his mind, it was like being a dream of some sort; there was truth but an absence of logic.

“No, it had a lot of faces on it,” Paul replied, reaching into the crates to pull out another painting, this one being the painting he was looking for. The background was a tan color, with many faces painted on top of it. “Ah, this is the one.”

“Would you like all of them out, sir?” Linda asked him as she reached down into the crate to take out another painting. 

“Yes, we need a little color in this room,” he responded as he surveyed the painting with his hazel eyes. This one truly was like a dream, but the absence of logic was more pronounced.

“God, not those finger paintings again,” Sarah groaned, leaning against the doorway as she sipped champagne. “They certainly were a waste of money.”

“The difference between Sarah’s taste in art and my own is that I have some,” Paul quipped, regretting what he said soon after the words came out, “they’re fascinating.” He placed the painting on one of the velvet couches. “It’s like being in a dream, there’s truth but no logic,” he added, revealing his earlier thoughts. 

“What’s the artist’s name?” Linda asked him as she took out another painting. 

“Pablo Picasso,” he told with a small smile, taking out one of the final paintings; this one a ballerina wearing a blue ball gown. 

“‘Pablo Picasso,’ he won’t amount to a thing,” Sarah drawled as she walked further into the sitting room, still drinking her champagne, “trust me. At least they were cheap.” 

Paul ignored her as he held out the Degas painting to Linda, who looked at it with interest in her eyes. “Let’s put the Degas in the bedroom,” he told her and she nodded, following him into the bedroom he would be sleeping in. 

His bedroom was smaller compared to Sarah or his father’s (who was currently wandering about the decks with his business friends) but he didn’t mind. In fact, he liked that his bedroom was simpler compared to his fiancée’s bedroom, since he liked simplicity. 

“There,” he stated to Linda as he placed the ballerina painting above his desk. “That looks nice.”

“It does, sir,” she responded with a smile.

“Linda, you don’t have to call me ‘sir,’” he reminded her, “Paul’s just fine, sir reminds me too much of my father.”

She nodded in understanding, reaching out and squeezing his hand. Linda was the only person who knew how Sarah acted toward him and how unhappy he was with their upcoming marriage. 

“I’m going to head up on deck,” Paul suddenly said as he felt the air in the room grow tenser. He needed fresh air, to escape the overwhelming smell of the fresh paint. Linda nodded.

“Do you want me to tell Miss Walsh and Mr. McCarntey when he gets back where you’ve gone?” she inquired. 

He thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. “No, you don’t have to. I can tell them myself,” he responded, and she nodded once more, giving him a small curtsy before walking into Sarah’s bedroom. 

Paul let out a deep breath once she left, the door closing behind her. He turned to the mirror, seeing how his black hair was carefully brushed, how his tie was perfectly tied, and he couldn’t help but want anything more than to rip it off. He sighed once more before leaving the bedroom and walking back into the sitting room, avoiding Sarah and Lovejoy’s gaze.

“Woah, woah, darling, where are you going?” Sarah’s false-worried voice stopped him right in his tracks, his hand hovering over the golden doorknob. 

“I’m just going up for a walk on deck, love,” Paul answered honestly, swallowing once he saw the expression on her face. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.” 

Her dark eyes searched his face, as if she was trying to see if he was lying or sense his fear. She stared at him for a long moment and his hand curled around the doorknob, his palms growing sweaty. 

“Sure, you can go,” she told him, and he quietly let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “But, if you’re gone for more than forty minutes, I’ll come up.” 

_Or you’ll send Lovejoy up to find me,_ Paul bitterly thought, but he held his tongue, instead nodding. He twisted the doorknob open and walked out the door, closing it shut behind him. 

The first-class corridor was filled with stewards, stewardesses, and other passengers, some complaining about the size of their rooms, causing him to roll his eyes. He nervously patted down his hair, starting to walk in the direction of an elderly couple. 

Every corridor looked the same, and it was a wonder that he didn’t get lost. Eventually, after about three minutes, Paul found himself climbing the Grand Staircase, his hand running over the smooth wood. Every inch of the ship was intricately detailed, and he made a note to compliment whoever designed her. 

He let out a happy sigh as he walked onto the deck, the smell of the ocean and the sea air replacing the smell of fresh wood and paint. His shoes clicked against the wooden floor as he wandered his way down the deck that was designated for first-class, passing by stewards, passengers, and some men he guessed as officers, walking up to an empty spot with a view of the ocean.

Like he was fascinated with art, Paul found himself both scared and fascinated by the ocean. The ocean seemed endless, with nothing but blue to see for miles, and the fact how the oceans connected the whole world together fascinated him. If oceans could connect, why couldn’t people do the same? 

“Paul?” a shocked voice from behind him caused him to whip his head around, his eyes widening in shock when he realized who it was.

The person was his childhood friend; George Harrison. Both George and Paul had grown up together, living a few blocks away from one another, only to be separated when Paul’s father forced the family to move away from Liverpool to London when he was sixteen. He never thought he would see George again, but here he was, standing a few feet away from him.

George had obviously changed; he had grown taller, his hair no longer long it used to be, but he was still the same George, judging by his eyes.

“G-George?” Paul stammered slightly over his words, still quite shocked that his childhood best friend was standing right in front of him. 

“Long time, no see, old friend,” George grinned, a teasing tone in his voice, and he still had the thick Liverpoolian accent. And finally, Paul let himself smile. 

“It’s been a while,” he smiled, causing George’s smirk to turn into a genuine smile. 

“Yes, it has,” George responded, walking over and standing next to him, both of them with their elbows on the deck guard. “How’ve you been?” 

For a moment, Paul debated telling him how he really felt; how trapped and suffocating it felt to be trapped in a marriage he didn’t want, but he saw the happy expression on his friend’s face, and he didn’t want to ruin that.

“I’ve been good,” he responded with a false-smile, trying to make it seem as genuine as before. “You?”

“I’ve been good as well, mate,” George responded with a happy smile, turning his head as footsteps approached them. 

A young woman, probably the same as Paul, walked over, wearing a light pink dress. She had dirty-blonde hair and blue eyes that sparkled. 

“Ah, love, I have someone I would like you to meet,” he told her, and she smiled at him, grabbing the hand he had offered her. “Pattie, this is my old friend, Paul McCartney. Paul, this is my fiancée, Pattie.” 

“How do you do?” Pattie asked him kindly, an English accent in her voice, holding out her hand for him to shake.

He stayed talking with Pattie and George for a few minutes, and he quickly learned that Pattie was quite funny, her sense of humor causing both him and Geroge to snicker quietly. 

“Paul?” a voice asked from behind him, and he instantly tensed up, recognizing the voice as Sarah’s. “Who are you talking to?” While her voice was soft and curious, Paul could sense the possessiveness and the dangerous tone in it.

“I’m George Harrison,” George quickly introduced himself. “I’m an old friend of Paul’s.” 

“I’m Pattie Boyd, George was introducing me,” Pattie added, earning a narrowed look from Sarah. 

“Hmm,” was all Sarah said before she grabbed Paul’s arm, forcibly hooking hers through his. As she dragged him away, he turned around and sent an apologetic look to both George and Pattie, who had expressions of confusion on their faces. “You shouldn’t talk to them again, especially not that Pattie,” Sarah spat her name out like poison, “do you understand me?” 

Paul wanted to scream. Why was it impossible for him to talk to his childhood friend, who had been there for him during his mother’s death? But instead of retorting, he simply nodded, blinking back the tears that formed in his eyes as Sarah’s nails dug into his arms.


	3. Chapter Three

**_April 11th, 1912_ **

_ The sea breeze felt refreshing on his face as he leaned against the promenade deck window, squinting slightly at the sunlight. He looked down at the ocean below, waves spreading out as the ship plowed on. The water looked so deep yet so beautiful at the same time… _

_ Paul turned his head as he heard someone enter the deck, and his eyes widened when he saw who it was… _

_ His mother.  _

_ Mary McCartney stood in front of him, looking as healthy as she did before he turned thirteen. Her hazel eyes were warm and bright, her dark hair braided, and she was smiling as she looked at him.  _

_ “Mum,” he whispered, a lump forming in his throat as she walked toward him, a look in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place. _

_ Her hand threaded through his, and her touch felt so real, soft, and warm. She smiled at him, before saying, “it’s going to be alright. Just let it be.” _

Paul shot up in bed with a quiet gasp. Warm, just rising sunlight was pouring through the small window, and he glanced at the blank paper that was sitting on the desk. 

**-**

Biting his lip, he sat at his desk, trying to think of the words to write. His dream kept flying back to him, and he could still picture everything clearly, except for the words his mother had told him…

_ “It’s going to be alright. Just let it be.” _

But what did that mean? It seemed to Paul as though his mother knew what was happening, how he was engaged to Sarah, but not how he felt. He didn’t want to marry her, he didn’t want to marry somebody that he barely knew and who wanted to control him like a puppet. God, he sounded so selfish. How would his mother think of him now? 

He just finished writing the first verse when a knock on the bedroom door sounded, and Paul quickly stuffed the paper into the desk drawers, not wanting whoever was behind the door to see what he had been writing.

The door opened and in walked his father. 

“Paul, what are you doing? Breakfast is going to be served soon, come on,” Jim instructed and Paul nodded. His father narrowed his eyes at him before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

Paul let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Getting up, he walked over to the floor-length mirror, patting down at his already neatly-styled hair. The sound of the ship’s horn blowing made him wince.

“Come on, Paul, get yourself together,” he muttered, before following his father out the door. 

**-**

Breakfast was a somewhat-enjoyable affair, and it would have been better if Sarah and his father’s eyes weren’t on him the whole time. And Paul didn’t find himself very hungry anyway, only eating because he knew Sarah would get mad at him for not “keeping their image.”

He longed to go back to the cabin to work on the song he had been writing that morning, but he knew that he along with Sarah were having lunch with Molly Brown, who was boarding from Cherbourg, tomorrow. 

However, Paul managed to sneak away after breakfast to the top decks, watching with a smile as the ship got closer and closer to France. 

“Hey, Paulie!” George’s voice rang out and he turned his head, rolling his eyes at the nickname.

“Hello to you too, Geo,” Paul snarked back, causing George to laugh.

If George was being honest, he was worried about his former childhood friend. The latter looked sadder and weary, his smiles not quite reaching his eyes like he used to. And he couldn’t forget the frightened look on his face when Sarah Walsh, who was his fiancée, came over, pulling him away with a tight grip on his arm. 

Paul felt a small smile form on his face as he heard George laugh. The younger was full of sarcastic and witty remarks, but his laugh could make anyone smile. It only just occurred to him how much he missed his best mate.

“-ul? Paul, mate?” George inquired, snapping the older out of his thoughts. 

He flinched slightly as he turned to look at George, who was watching him carefully, a look in his dark eyes that Paul couldn’t place. 

“Sorry, Georgie, you were saying?” he quickly waved off, leaning against the railing. 

_ At Cherbourg, a woman came abroad name Margret Brown, but everyone called her Molly. History would call her “The Unsinkable Molly Brown.” Her husband had struck gold somewhere out west, and she was what Sarah called “new money.”  _

**-**

**_April 12th, 1912_ **

By the next afternoon, they were steaming west from the coast of Ireland, having picked up passengers from Queenstown, Ireland, with nothing ahead of them but ocean. John had dragged Ringo to the front of the ship (or the bow, as Ringo told him it was called). His best mate had been hesitant at first, but had eventually agreed due to John’s excited rambling. 

“Are you even sure we’re allowed to be up here?” Ringo asked, looking nervously behind him while they ran, as if an officer was going to come up any minute. 

He rolled his eyes, turning around to face Ringo. He was squinting from the sunlight, but some of the Sun reflected off of his blue eyes. The sunlight reflected off the freckles lining his nose and cheeks. 

“Yes, the gate’s open, and there’s no sign saying ‘crew only.’ We’re going to be  _ fine,”  _ John responded. Ringo rolled his eyes at the slightly-sarcastic response but smiled anyway, and two began running again.

Both of them ran to the very front, Ringo gripping the railings for support while John looped his arms around the ropes. 

The ocean breeze blew through his auburn hair, the sunlight warming his neck, but not in a hot, sticky way. He looked down at the ocean, watching with a smile as the ripples grew stronger as the ship increased speed. 

“Hey, Rings, look!” John gasped, pointing down to the ocean as a dolphin leaped out of the water. Ringo followed his gaze, a smile forming on his face as he watched them jump. “See it? Look, there’s another one!”

“I see them, John, calm down,” Ringo chuckled with a smile on his face, amusement in his tone.

Ignoring his teasing, John held on tighter to the ropes, pulling himself up. The wind was blowing in his face, taking his jacket and hair with him.

“I can see the Statue of Liberty all ready, very small, of course,” Ringo joked, and John chuckled, glancing back at his small friend. 

Standing on the bow of the mighty Titanic, he felt invincible. With the sea wind blowing through his hair, the warm sunlight on his face, he stood completely on the railing, and shouted, “I’M THE KING OF THE WORLD!”

He heard Ringo laugh from behind him, fully used to his antics. He tried to grab his arm and pull him back, but chuckled and leaned his arms on the railing, looking down at the ripples on the ocean. 


End file.
